


Hurt

by Ayram



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bleeding Effect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayram/pseuds/Ayram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(This is just a very rough fic-thingy I wrote a while back, and I thought that I might as well post it here. It can also be found at y!gal here http://www.y-gallery.net/view/878784/)</p>
<p>I can't really make summaries, but truth to be told, it's not all that much to summarise. I'll just copy what I wrote over at y!gal instead.</p>
<p>"It's a Shaun/Desmond fic, taking place during Brotherhood, possibly quite early in the game. I love that setting, and how the dynamics between the four is starting to change. Needless to say, I'm heads over heels for Shaun. He's my man, and I love writing him. Desmond is trickier. <br/>I can't write smut, but I do so hope to learn, so perhaps that's a project for later fics."</p>
<p>It's also sort of unfinished, but with my current writer's slump I can't bring myself to finish it once and for all. So please, see this as a WIP-sort of fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt

”You know, if _someone_ hadn’t complained about the food, Rebecca and Lucy would still be here, you'd be back in the Animus, and I'd be able to get some work done! Now I'm stuck babysitting you, so that the bloody bleeding effect doesn't make you jump off a roof-top or something!” I threw my hands up in the air, scowling at the mouldy interior of the sanctuary...How the hell can mould grow on stone walls anyway?

”Why are you so fucking passive-aggressive, Shaun?” Desmond sneered through gritted teeth. He was trying to lodge a small pebble from the sole of his sneakers, but since sharp or pointed objects were considered a major terror incognita in the hideout since the bleeding effect started to take over, he was using the handle of a spoon. Some group of assassins this was...

”Oh, oh, what's that Desmond? Passive-aggressive? Is that American for "sarcastic"? Care do elucidate me, Desmond?” I was frustrated, but also dead tired, so what had sounded sharp and snappish in my mind, came out almost like a sigh.

”Whatever...” Desmond threw the sneaker across the room. First it hit the stairs and then bounced away. I knew I was being unfair and unnecessarily snarky, and I also knew that the girls had other, important, reasons for leaving and only took pity on Shaun when he commented on the food. I knew all of this, but somehow my sarcastic and cynical exterior had hardened over the years, becoming less of 'Shaun just being Shaun' and more of an exoskeleton, something always present. Something impenetrable, something that always happened, with our without my doing.

Normally this was fine, because the girls were here and being more used to me and my ways, they took care of Desmond. Making sure he was okay. Making sure he ate. Making sure he didn't get hurt. Making sure he didn't hurt himself. With a sudden clarity I knew how first time parents must feel. Only Desmond wasn't a child. He was a grown man, well beyond my match in physical terms. Stronger, heavier...More desperate than me as well.

”I'm sorry” At first, I couldn't understand why Desmond had apologised, and still couldn't a moment late. It took me a second moment to realise that it was I who had done it. I swivelled my chair to fully face Desmond where he was sitting on his sleeping bag, and he looked just as surprised as I felt. ”It's...It's okay, Shaun...” He inspected the spoon for a few moments and then asked it ”Are you okay?”

”Seems like a perfectly normal spoon to me, Desmond, but it's nice of you to ask since you did use its posterior to dissect shoes that's been through who knows what. Ever the gentleman you are, Desmond.” It was like that small drink that you take, when you've promised to stop. You just had to, because the world was changing and suddenly it was too hard and you just had to. One more couldn't hurt, surely? One more drink, after a lifetime of intoxication. One more snide remark, after years upon years of snarky comments.

”Never mind I asked...” Desmond flung himself down on the sleeping bag. ”I'll just go to sleep. That way, you can work without having to explain why I'm in a puddle of my own blood to the girls when they come back.” He struggled out of his hoodie and after kicking off the remaining shoe, slipped out of his jeans and into the sleeping bag.

”I...It's not like that, Des...” I was a spineless bastard, and I knew it. Knew it because I barely whispered the words. If he heard them, he didn't show it, and I didn't blame him. Feeling like a heel, I turned back to my work, the artificial blueish shine from the computer display the only light in the murky room.

* * *

 

”What's it like then?” The sullen murmur scared me half to death and all the way off my chair. I landed on the floor with a thud and a strangled curse, and once I had recovered enough to hear anything else than the blood rushing in my ears I got up and sat down the chair again.

”What?”

”You said that it wasn't like that. What's it like then?” Desmond was sitting up, the sleeping bag pooled around his narrow waist. All cracks about him gaining weight were pure bollocks. The way the blue light reflected off his toned arms, shoulders and neck put me in mind of some ancient sea deity, like Poseidon. I found myself willing him to take of his t-shirt, so I could better see his chest and abdomen, whose chiselled form was only suggested at through the thin fabric. Before I realised that I was staring and hadn't answered his question yet, Desmond got up.

”You should get some sleep, Shaun.” I was stunned when I heard actual concern in his voice, and saw a sad frown on his face. ”I'm sorry if you feel that you can't because of me, but I promise not to...” His voice drifted off, and he stopped a few feet in front of me, looking like a lost child.

”You...You know you can't promise me that, Desmond...” My voice was raw, mainly from lack of sleep and water, but also...Also because of the lump of emotion suddenly stuck in my throat.

He just stood there, arms hanging down at his sides and a desperate and tormented expression on his face. Somehow I got the feeling that all bets were off. In this god forsaken basement, at this unholy hour, nothing mattered. Whatever happened, whatever was said, would forever remain here, in the gloom of the sanctuary, smelling of mould and mice, illuminated by a computer screen.

I got up and put my hands on his shoulders, trying to catch his eye. ”Desmond, here, look at me. I'm sorry. For everything. For what I just said, for being such an arse since the day we met. You know what it's like to have someone take over your actions, don't you? Imagine if that someone was you...” Now he did look up, gazing at me with a confused expression.

”What do you mean? Who's taking over you?”

”I mean that...This persona, this snarky bastard, he isn't me. Well, he is, but not all the time. Or maybe I'm not him most of the time. I don't know. I just want you to know that I do care. I'm just so used to being like that, and I have no clue how to look after you, and that terrifies me!”

”I don't need looking after, Shaun!” Desmond snarled and suddenly his eyes glinted gold.

”But you do, Des! You do!” I didn't realise it, but my knuckles were white and my blunt nails dug into the flesh of his shoulders with enough force to bruise. He didn’t answer, but a distant look came over him and I got the most terrifying, sinking feeling in my gut when it occurred to me that he was looking through me as if I wasn't there at all.

”Desmond! I'm here, it's me, Shaun!” I got no reply. ”Des, who is it? Altaïr or Ezio?”

”Does it matter?” Desmond's voice was slurred with an accent that I couldn't pinpoint in my state of panic, but at least he replied.

”Yes! I think Altaïr is much more inclined to kill me than Ezio would be. Desmond, please, focus” I was running out of ideas, options and time. Pushing him, or worse, punching him, would certainly result in my sudden demise, be it Altaïr or Ezio behind the mists. In my last, desperate moment of thought I hugged him tight, clinging to him and even through my fear and panic the scent of stale sweat, dust and man hit me like a hammer. With my right ear pressed to his chest I could hear his heart racing and feel his lungs work like bellows. But I didn't let go.

”Fuck, Desmond, come back” He was muttering to himself, but I didn't catch the words. ”Desmond!” It was one last, desperate shout that echoed through the sanctuary. But finally Desmond stilled, his breathing and heart-rate slowing down to something almost healthy. To my surprise, he was hugging me back, one hand stroking my back, as if he was trying to soothe me. I wondered if whoever had been in charge still was, but had met someone...Well, someone else. That frightened me, if possible, even more than the prospect of fighting Desmond possessed by any of the two master assassins.

”Des?” I didn't know what to ask him. 'Who are you?' was out of the question, as was 'what are you doing?'.

”Shaun?” He gasped and stepped back, or at least tried to. Unfortunately I hadn't released my vice-like grip on him, and I wasn't prepared for his manoeuvre, so we fell to the floor with a thud. Lucky for me, and even more so so for Desmond, we landed on several rolled up sleeping bags and not on the cold stone floor. Hitting the ground for the second time in less than half an hour, I decided that I was allowed some down-time, and releasing Desmond from my death grip I rolled to the side. ”I'm sorry...” I sighed the words as I closed my eyes. ”Are you all right? Are you back to being you again, Desmond?”

”Yes...” His voice was low and soft, as if he was dead tired. He probably was. ”Thanks.”

”Don't mention it. But tell me, who was it?”

”Ezio. But I don't think Altaïr would kill you, Shaun. I think he'd like you, actually. You would probably remind him of Malik. He likes Mailk a lot.” Desmond spoke in short gasps, once sentence at the time.

”Oh, so you heard that, did you? Not sure if I was getting through.” I cracked one eye open and found that he was still laying beside me, sprawled on the uneven terrain of sleeping bags and backpacks.

”I heard you. I tried to follow your voice, but it was so hard to hear it. Then you hugged me. It was like you got closer to me. Easier to hear.”

”Desperate times calls for desperate measures...” I muttered, blushing in the darkness of the sanctuary. ”At least it worked...”

”All those other things you said...Before. Was that true?” He shifted and lay on his side, watching me. I looked away, studying the stonework of the walls.

”Yes.” I didn't know what else to say. ”Every word...”

”Oh...” Oh, indeed, Desmond. Not what you expected, I suppose. He was silent for a minute, and I thought he had fallen asleep again, but then he muttered ”Are you all right? You fell off your chair.”

”I'm aware of that, Desmond...” I sighed, and made a half-hearted attempt to sit up, but I put my hand down on a sleeping bag, which slipped away under my hand. I took this as a sign that horizontal was the way to go and tried to make myself comfortable again.

Silence settled once more, and I was feeling increasingly sleepy, but the nagging fear of Desmond and his less than stable mental health kept me in the insomniac's limbo.

**Author's Note:**

> Now...I'm Swedish and while I do consider English to be my second language, I'm well aware that I don't fully master it. There will be some minor lingual hiccups, such as typos and grammatical errors, as well as some more recurring mistakes. I would love it if you brought these to my attention, and other (constructive) criticism as well. I'm very, very eager to learn and develop and I would gladly accept any help or comments you might have :)


End file.
